To Have Wings
by Rainbooks
Summary: In that place between sleep and awake, the direct descendent of Wendy Darling will find her rightful place in Neverland, by Peter Pan's side. Though the attempt to keep them apart proves to be unsuccessful, perhaps it was better when she didn't know who Peter Pan was. Better for her, for Peter, and for Neverland as a whole.
1. Peter Breaks Through

**A/N: **So listen, I may have tried to write this two, or three, or four times before. And I've got to be honest, I've given up on it a lot. But this time, I'm going to do it. All the way. So, if for whatever reason, you'd like to encourage me, please review, and I love you very much. Thank you.

Peter isn't in this chapter directly, but he will be in every one after this, so do not fret!

I don't own Neverland or Peter Pan or Wendy, but nearly every other character in this is one that I've created. Thanks again, and please enjoy.

* * *

To Have Wings

by Rainbooks

—

Chapter One

Peter Breaks Through

_"__Poor little Peter Pan, he sat down and cried, and even then he did not know that, for a bird, he was sitting on his wrong part. It is a blessing that he did not know, for otherwise he would have lost faith in his power to fly, and the moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it. The reason birds can fly and we can't is simply that they have perfect faith, for to have faith is_**_ to have wings_**_."_

J.M. Barrie, _The Little White Bird_

_—__  
_

All children, except one, grow up.

In Neverland, becoming a grownup is held with the most serious contempt, but that's for the security of the island itself. Grownups simply ruin things in Neverland, therefore, to become one is the greatest betrayal.

Unlike children on the Mainland, those who have found themselves under the authority of Peter Pan (these children are, of course, the Lost Boys) may remain youthful for as long as their thoughts are pure and carefree. On Neverland, time cannot turn them into men; it is their own thoughts, of worry and sadness and stress that ages them. It only becomes worse when they realize what's happening, and then begin to worry about that as well.

At some point, every Lost Boy grows up - for all children, except one, do - and they must choose to either accept it and attempt to escape or await the moment Peter notices and accept his wrath. This seems rather extreme, but you must see how critical the matter is and that Peter, as something of a protecter of his boys and of Neverland, cannot hesitate to rid the land of grownups when he can.

In the Mainland, things are notably different on this affair. It is very much accepted and even celebrated that everyone grows up someday, and it is grownups, rather than the children that are regarded as the important and capable people of the land.

Although the Mainland adults know that the children will someday grow up as well, they all generally believe that it is important for them each to have a childhood of a pleasant sort. This is because they recognize that adulthood can be rather icky and that childhood is fun and innocent and pure.

Some children, however, that are exposed to tragedy and to worry and sadness and stress, grow up much sooner than they ought to have, and everyone pretty much agrees that that's rather a shame, because the few years before you must become a grownup can be some of the most precious of your life.

Poor Margaret Henley, just sixteen years old, had to grow up very quickly the night her mother was killed.

Because the late Moira Henley's American ex-husband who had whisked her to New York so many years before was no where to be found, Margaret was put in the custody of her cousin, who apparently lived in the UK and whom she had never heard of.

Margaret knew her mother was English, and she knew, of course, that she must have had some sort of a family, once, but she didn't think that she had it _anymore_. Moira had never mentioned anything about a parent or sibling, let alone a cousin, but then, at her funeral, showed up three adults whom Margaret knew nothing about, and who claimed they had grown up with her mother.

And whom she would be living with for the foreseeable future.

Her new guardian's name was Nicole Davies. Margaret's grandmother and Nicole's father were brother and sister. To Moira's funeral, Nicole brought her brother, Napoleon Llewelyn, and her husband, James Davies, who had apparently been a family friend of theirs since they were children and also knew Margaret's mother very well.

Nicole was around the same age as Moira, who was thirty-five, but she was extremely small. She wore her brown curls pinned up and tall heels to make up for her height. Margaret thought that James looked more like her brother than Napoleon did, because he had the same brown hair and eyes, and was only a little taller than Margaret. Napoleon and Nicole were both big smilers, though, even on such a sad occasion for a meeting, and Margaret thought that James looked a bit dodgy.

Napoleon was tall even though he slouched, and had thinning black hair and green eyes and wore square glasses. He seemed to be a few years older than Nicole and her husband, and Margaret saw him tear up a bit when he first met her, he and his sister exclaiming how much she looked like her mother. James watched silently her from a few steps back, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Margaret watched him back.

After the funeral, James and Napoleon went back to their homes in London. Nicole stayed. Margaret had three weeks before her summer vacation began, so she and her cousin continued to live in her mother's apartment until then.

In this time, the two of them slowly began to clean out the only home Margaret had ever known. Nicole was a virtual assistant, so she mostly worked while Margaret was at school, but she was also constantly making arrangements in regards to Margaret and her future in London and her stuff there in New York.

Margaret was extremely independent, taking the subway to school and getting her own meals. On the weekends, she stayed home and packed her things and watched foreign movies on Netflix. Nicole often tried to speak with her, but Margaret was unresponsive.

"I was packing up the books in the living room," Nicole might have tried one evening. "And I noticed how _dreary _the choices were. _Moby Dick, A Tale of Two Cities." _She would have smiled. "Now, I love a classic as any other but where is liveliness?" Here, she would wait, in vain, for Margaret to answer, then: "Did you and your mother ever get into the Harry Potter series? My boys and I just loved it."

Finally, Margaret would have sighed deeply. "No," she would have said.

"Really? But it's so exciting and magical!"

If she were lucky, Margaret would have looked at her then. Her big, blue eyes and light brown hair were those that Nicole had once seen on Moira, but the bored and stubborn look in her face was one she didn't recognize. "Magic isn't real," Margaret would have said, quickly ending the conversation.

—

Meanwhile, in Neverland, Peter was missing.

He often went off on his own to have some adventure by himself, so the Lost Boys weren't worried. They were bored, but they weren't worried.

"I bet he's havin' lots of fun," said Pin, who was jumping on the bed. The mattress was filled with Never Bird feathers, so although it wasn't very bouncy, a few holes in the fabric let the white things come out and fly around. "Maybe we can find him and then we can have fun, too."

Dez dangled upside down from the swing by one leg. His fingertips grazed the treehouse floor as Bitts spun him around until the ropes were tight around his thigh. "We'll never even catch up!" Bitts cried. "I'd hold on if I were you," he added to Dez, who reached up and grabbed hold to a rope before Bitts let go. "He's _way _too fast." Dez spun around in a blur, shouting, and dropped onto the floor as soon as the swing slowed.

"I'm gonna hurl," he murmured.

Bitts grinned. "My turn!" he said.

At the moment, Peter had seven Lost Boys. The eight of them lived in a treehouse deep in the forest that was so high that if they looked out the East window, they could see Mermaid Lagoon and they could still see the Natives' camp if they looked out the West.

One of the youngest boys was Pin, who got into the most fights with the other boys and loved to taunt the Natives, even though they were mostly harmless. Before Peter killed Captain Wolff, Pin was too small to be allowed to go fight the pirates, but now he was a right good size, and he was counting the days before the pirates regrouped and found a new Captain.

Next, there was Great, who wasn't so great. You see, he had realized that he was always the one to get hurt when the boys went out for adventures - always the one to be rammed in the rear-end by a beast or the one to be taken by the Natives when they decided to play Kidnap. Therefore, Great preferred to be a look out, or even better, stay back at the Tree House altogether, to watch after the boys who Peter deemed too-small for something, or just to tidy up things.

On the other hand, there was Dez and Bitts, who were the most eager of all of the boys for adventure. They showed up in Neverland around the same time, and have been inseparable since. These two would have followed Peter anywhere, no questions asked. Bitts especially loved adventures involving treasure, and had a secret hiding place where he kept all the pieces he'd collected that not even Dez knew about.

Then, there was Kelp, who didn't say much.

The oldest was Roller, who, having been in Neverland for the longest out of all of the Lost Boys, was considered to be Peter's right-hand man. This made him in charge when Peter was out, and he didn't really talk to the other boys unless it was to yell at them or tell them what to do. However, Roller was not disagreeable because he didn't like the other boys or thought that he was better than them - he was simply aware of the ever-present and very real dangers of Neverland, in a way that the boys, and even Peter, were not. He just wanted to look out for them.

The youngest of all the Lost Boys was actually the oddest. His name was Matty, and Pin _was _the youngest until he showed up, but he wasn't a baby like how the other boys were when they first came. Peter, who was rightly suspicious, asked him, with a sword pointed at his chest, where he had come from, but Matty could not answer. Luckily, he was so small and innocent looking that Peter let him stay, even though he was also so small that he often had to stay back with Great. Sometimes, though, Matty would go missing, just like Peter did, though he wasn't able to tell the others where he went.

"Has anyone seen Maime?" said Great, putting away Kelp's porridge dish now that he was done. Maime was Peter's fairy.

"She's prob'ly with Peter," said Dez. "They prob'ly went to Skull Rock."

Matty propped himself up on his elbows lying on the crocodile rug Bitts had stolen off of the pirates' ship. "Perhaps they're visiting with the Natives," he said. He liked visiting the Natives best out of all.

"Nah, they're at the Lagoon."

"Maybe he flew to the Mainland!"

"I want to go to the Mainland!"

"He's in the Dream Forest."

All the boys looked up at Roller, who was carving a bit wood with a knife by the window. "_Why?_" Pin asked him.

The Dream Forest was a big, congested area in the Northern-most point of the island where the boys could get a peek at every single child's Neverland while they dreamt. Roller told the boys that it used to be fun, but now, all of the Neverlands were more or less the same, and the boys could go without fighting another giant robot-car-alien thing for a while.

Roller shrugged, not looking up. "He's looking for something," he said.

—

"Margaret. Margaret. Margaret, wake up!"

Margaret opened her eyes wide, gasping. The summer had begun and she and Nicole were on flight to her new home in London. Nicole was holding onto her shoulder, looking over at her with concern.

"What's going on?" said Margaret. Her eyes flickered down to where Nicole's hand was on her shoulder. Nicole let go of her.

"You were having a nightmare," she said, waving at a flight attendant.

Margaret struggled to catch her breath. Her heart was speeding - she felt like she had just run a marathon. "I - I don't remember," she said. She never could remember her dreams.

An attendant came by and Nicole got Margaret a cup of water. Margaret nodded her thanks. "So," Nicole said archly. "Who's Peter?"

Margaret frowned. "Who?"

"You were mumbling in your sleep just now," Nicole said, trying to look nonchalant. "Asking someone named Peter to wait for you."

"I don't know a Peter."

"Oh?"

"I don't."

Nicole shrugged. "If you say you don't know a Peter, I believe you," she said, but Margaret could tell she was trying to hide a smile.

The flight was seven and a half hours long. When they landed, sometime in the evening before it got dark, Margaret and Nicole were met by the other Davies. Nicole had six year old twin boys whom Margaret had seen her Skype with. As soon as he saw them, one of them ran over, nearly tackling their mother, the both of them giggling. James walked over with the other boy on his hip, fatherhood looking a little odd on his small stature and gray suit.

Nicole swung her son around, cooing. "I've missed you!" he cried.

Margaret suddenly felt guilty for keeping Nicole from her family for so long. She still wasn't able to shake the feeling when Nicole turned, eyes shining, to face her. "Margaret, this is my son. His name is James, after his father, but we call him Jimmy."

Margaret managed a brief smile at the boy looking up at her from around his mother's legs while James came near enough for Nicole to kiss him."And _this_," she went on, speaking to Margaret, "is my darling Matthew," she lifted her other son's head from James's shoulder and kissed him on the forehead with a loud smack. Matthew smiled sleepily. His eyes, unlike the rest of his family, were a clear blue.

"Nice to meet you," Margaret murmured.

"Mum, guess what!" said Jimmy.

"What is it, my love?"

"Matthew and I drew you _so _many pictures while you were away."

"Really? What about your father? Did he draw me any?"

Margaret tilted her suitcase so she could begin following Nicole and Jimmy out. "Hello, Margaret," said James, readjusting Matthew on his hip then reaching with his free hand for her suitcase. "Let me get that for you."

"No, I've got it," said Margaret. "Hi, James," she added, and they went out to the car.

—

Margaret was having a hard time in London.

No matter how hard Nicole tried to make her feel at home, the Davies' guest room still felt like a guest room to her.

No matter how hard Margaret willed herself to just smile and to play a board game with Jimmy for once, she couldn't…she found that she couldn't bear to. She couldn't look at his happy little face and grin and pretend she was okay when she was miserable.

God, was she miserable.

James rolled in a television for her, so she spend her days lying in bed with the curtains drawn, watching weird English TV. Napoleon's wife, Molly, largely pregnant and glowing asked how she meant to keep in touch with her friends from New York.

"I don't have any friends," she replied.

She decided that she hated London. For one, it had already rained three times in the two weeks that she'd been there, and it was meant to be summer, for goodness sakes. Also, Margaret had begun to have regular nightmares since she had come, or at least she thought she did. She couldn't remember them. But every night, she would wake up gasping, her heart speeding and her forehead damp with sweat.

Most of all, though, Margaret hated - she loathed - to hear how much she looked like Moira. How well so-and-so had known her once. How lively and whimsical she had been before she married Margaret's father and moved away, never to be heard from again.

"I'm sorry for your loss," they would finish.

Margaret would nod. "Thank you," she would say.

Matthew was sickly, so he was nearly always bedridden. Sometimes, Margaret would visit him, when she was feeling antsy. Usually, he was sleeping, but sometimes he was awake, and when he was, he would smile with his teeth so hard that his blue eyes would squish up.

"Look what I drew today," he told her once, weakly pointing at the small desk in between his and Jimmy's twin beds.

Margaret went to the desk and picked up a crude drawing of four figures colored in green and yellow, blue and yellow, brown and blue, and brown alone, respectively.

"We're playing," Matthew said.

"Who?"

"Me, you, Jimmy, and Peter Pan."

Margaret bit her lip. There was something about that name that she recognized, that made her stomach tighten up in an odd way. "Who's Peter Pan?" she asked.

Matthew giggled. "You don't know who Peter Pan is?" he said. Margaret shook her head. "He's the boy that never grows up. He lives in Neverland with fairies and pirates and mermaids."

Margaret nodded. "Oh," she said.

"Are you sad, Margaret?"

Although she shocked, Margaret answered truthfully."Yes," she said.

"Why?"

"Because. I'm alone." She placed the drawing back on the little desk.

Matthew coughed. "Keep it," he managed. "It's for you."

"Thank you," said Margaret, and she meant it. She left him to rest and went downstairs to ask Nicole for tape. She thought she might put it on a wall in the guest room.

She heard Nicole in the kitchen, but stopped when she realized that she was on the phone. She was about to turn around to leave her when she heard Nicole say in a low tone: "No. No, she's not an unpleasant child. What can you expect from her, really? She doesn't know us."

Margaret crept toward the door, listening. "I just don't know what to do. She doesn't _want _to talk to me. I can't force her to…God, Molly, I just - she so _unhappy_." Nicole's voice grew higher and she gasped. As if she were crying. The guilt Margaret had first felt at the airport returned with a vengeance.

Nicole gained control of her tone, however sniffling still. "I hear her crying at night…No, she wont tell me…As if. We can barely get her to leave the house, let alone see a therapist."

Margaret frowned. She didn't want to listen anymore. She turned around, and with a start, found that James was standing right behind her.

He jerked his head toward the hallway then walked in that direction, stepping silently. Margaret paused, but then went after him.

James led her to a room she had not been in before. With its large desk and tall bookshelves, it was obviously his office. "Take a seat, Margaret," James said, sitting behind his desk. Margaret sat in a wooden chair facing him, as if he were a headmaster and she his student.

"So I understand you have been having bad dreams," said James. Margaret noticed dark rings underneath his eyes. He had let a beard and mustache just barely grow. He'd probably shave it off in the morning.

Lazily, Margaret lifted up her eyes to meet his.

James raised an eyebrow. "You're rather difficult, aren't you?" He looked down at some papers on his desk, the corners of his mouth lifting up into a smirk. "But that's the way Moira was."

"I'm okay, thank you," said Margaret, quickly. "Do you have any tape?"

"You know - of course - that I'm a doctor." James picked up a black tape dispenser and handed it to Margaret over his desk. He settled in his seat, creasing his black suit. "But I also fancy myself something of an inventor, as well. Both identities are helpful to my son, you understand. We are able to keep Matthew at home comfortably as long as I am around to care for him."

James leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. Margaret looked down at his palms, flat on the table top, then back up at his deeply set eyes. "Matthew was having nightmares as well, earlier this year," he said. Margaret could smell his cologne from where she sat. "We tried everything."

For a moment, James didn't say a word; he simply stared, looking Margaret right in the eye. Margaret stared, unflinchingly, back.

James sat back, rubbing a hand over his stubble. "Have you ever heard of lucid dreaming?" Margaret didn't respond. James went on anyway. "Lucid dreaming occurs when one becomes…conscious whilst they're asleep. That is, they become aware that they are dreaming, and are therefore, able to control different aspects of their dream. Some people naturally have this ability, and some are able to train themselves to do it, although I understand that that can be extremely difficult.

"I've created a drug, Margaret, that allows my patient to dream lucidly without the training necessary. With this drug, someone who, say, has regular nightmares, will be able to become conscious during their dreams, and control them. I've tested it only on Matthew, but he uses it still, today."

Margaret looked mildly surprised. "You gave your six-year-old an untested drug?"

"It works," said James. "Listen, Margaret. I am offering you this because we are family now. I take care of my family, and I think you will be happier if you could get through a night for once."

Margaret frowned. "I'm okay, thank you," she said.

"If nothing else, do it for Nicole. You know what you're doing to her. You heard her on the phone just now."

That stung, the guilt spilling back into her stomach. Margaret blinked back tears. "I'm okay," she said, resolutely. "Thank you." She moved to stand up.

"Margaret," James said, harshly.

There was a knock at the door. "Just a moment," James called, but Margaret said, "Come in," staring down at James as she stood.

The door opened and Jimmy stuck in his little head. "Daddy, would you take me to the park in a little bit, please?"

James smiled. "Of course, son," he said.

Margaret opened the door wider and Jimmy scooted out of her way. "Margaret," James said, softer than before. She looked at him over his shoulder. "Do let me know if you change your mind."

—

In her dream, Margaret was in a forest of tall, thin trees. It was nighttime, but it was light enough to see. She was barefoot - in her pajamas - but she wasn't cold. She was alone.

Somehow, Margaret felt like she knew this place very well.

She took a step.

"Margaret," said a familiar voice behind her. Margaret spun around.

"Mom," she whispered, and she lurched forward. Moira, dressed in white, grabbed her daughter and held her tightly to her. She was only just taller and smelled of vanilla, just like Margaret had remembered.

"Mom, I - I can't - "

Moira shushed her, smoothing down her hair.

Sobbing silently, Margaret ran her hands down her mother's back then gasped, finding a wet spot between her shoulders. She pulled back her hand and saw in the dark, that it was covered in blood. She whimpered, clasping her clean hand to her mouth.

Moira grabbed her wrist. "Margaret," she said, when another name was called faintly from behind her.

Margaret looked over her shoulder. "What was that?" she asked.

"Nothing," said Moira. She pressed her lips tightly together like she used to. "Come here, Margaret." She tugged her daughter's arm but Margaret didn't come, looking still, behind her

The faraway voice called again. Margaret couldn't quite make out the name. "Do you hear that? It's getting closer."

Margaret tried to walk that way but Moira held her back. "Stay here," she said. "Please."

"Mom, I-" Margaret frowned. The voice called again. It sounded like - like a boy. Margaret gasped. "I know him," she said.

"_Please_, Margaret."

Margaret tried to yank away from her mother's grip. The voice was getting fainter again. "Wait!" Margaret cried out to him. She looked back at her mother with wide eyes. "Mom," she said. "Mom, you've got to let me go. I've got to go. I've got to _go!_" She tried to pull away but Moira's grip was too strong.

"Stay here," Moira murmured, and Margaret watched in horror as her mother shrunk, her hair growing longer and lighter and freckles popping onto her skin. She opened her mouth and Margaret saw that she was missing a tooth.

Her mother looked, overwhelmingly, like Margaret. But younger. Around nine or ten years old, still wearing the white dress from before, with blood dripping down the back.

Margaret hesitated, but then yanked her wrist from her mother's now tiny fingers, falling back from her onto the forest floor. "I'm sorry," she whispered as Moira watched, tears falling down her cheeks.

Margaret got onto her feet and started running toward where she had heard the voice. It was almost too faint, now, but she heard it still, and she shouted out, "Wait! I'm coming - wait!"

As she ran, dodging around trees, the forest became alive around her. Eyes blinked at her from the shadows, small animals skittered up the trunks of the trees. Margaret heard crickets, running water, croaking frogs. A small, bright light, about the size of her fist, flickered in the trees above her as she ran, zigzagging through the air.

She heard the voice clearly now, and she heard the name he called. And now, with him so close, she thought she knew his name, too. She propelled forward, heart speeding in her chest, but she couldn't get close enough.

"Wendy!" called the boy in a sing-song voice.

"Peter!"

—

Margaret stared up in the dark at the ceiling, gasping. Her cheeks were wet, and her heart was beating fast. She fought the urge to sob. She glanced at Matthew's drawing on the wall. Peter Pan, he'd said.

That evening when James came home from the hospital, Margaret knocked on his office door.

She opened the door before he could answer. "Margaret," James said when he saw her, almost surprised.

"I'll do it," said Margaret, then closed the door.


	2. The Shadow (1)

Chapter Two

The Shadow

—

_"__Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it." _

J.M. Barrie

—

Part One

—

Seven children of various sizes jumped around, shouting, in Margaret's guest room. One of them attempted to do a headstand and knocked into the wardrobe.

"Don't laugh, Jack, that really hurt!"

These were Margaret's cousins.

There was Matthew and Jimmy, of course, but then there was also Napoleon and Molly's children, Jack and Isabell, who were the eldest cousins, at twelve and fourteen years old, respectively.

Nicole had another brother - the youngest Llewelyn, who was called Arthur. Apparently, Arthur wasn't around much, but his ex-wife, Sylvia, who had no family except for back in Ethiopia, made it a point to keep her sons in touch with their cousins. There were four of them - Nicholas, George, Mikey, and Pete, who were three, five, seven, and ten.

Margaret sat in the bed with her arms wrapped around her legs. She was still in her pajamas.

"Hey Margaret," said Mikey, jumping on the bed beside her. "How'd your mum die?"

Isabell gasped in horror. "Michael!" she scolded whilst she helped Nicholas take off his trainers.

Jack flipped Jimmy onto the bed. "My dad said she was murdered," Jack said nonchalantly. "_Stabbed in the back _by a mugger."

"Mum said not to talk about Margaret's mum!" said Jimmy.

"Are you serious?" said Pete.

"I don't believe you!" Isabell cried.

Jack shrugged. "It's true - it's what he said."

Isabell rolled her eyes and sat by Margaret on the bed. "No, you twit," she said. "I meant_, _I can't believehow insensitive you are! This is Margaret's mother we're talking about!"

Jack peeled George off of his back. "It is true, though, isn't it?" This was directed at Margaret.

Only Nicholas, George, and the twins didn't await her answer by staring right at her, expectantly. Isabell tried to seem indignant, but she also couldn't quite hide her curiosity.

Margaret bit her lip. She couldn't help but feel like she was being bullied despite being the eldest and biggest person in the room. Finally, she nodded.

"You're joking!"

"Crikey!"

"That's brutal."

Isabell put a hand on Margaret's shoulder. Margaret stared at her hand. "I'm so sorry, Margaret," Isabell said.

"Thanks."

Just then, the door opened, and Nicole peeped in, smiling. "I just wanted to check in on you," she said, though her smile faded when she spotted Margaret curled up on the bed. "Perhaps," she went on, "We should all give Margaret a break. Why don't you all come out and get some breakfast. "

"Oh, but we just got here!" said Jack.

"Yes, we all love Margaret," said Mikey, grinning.

Margaret frowned. She hated kids.

"No, no," Nicole said, opening the door wide. "Out you go."

The children went out, one by one, groaning. Isabell carried Nicholas' shoes.

When they had all gone, Margaret stretched out her legs over her blankets. Nicole stood in the doorway. "Sorry about springing them all on you like that. It's a play day! Come out when you like."

Margaret called out Nicole's name before she could close the door. Nicole waited.

"I wanted to say thank you," Margaret said. "For everything. And that I'm sorry that I'm so…" She looked away.

"Oh Margaret," Nicole said, smiling. "We're family." As if that was all that needed to be said on the subject. "Take your time."

Margaret smiled faintly back. "I'll be out in a minute." Nicole closed the door and then it was just Margaret and the drawing of she and the twins and Peter Pan on the wall.

Now that the children were out of the room, Margaret thought that they weren't that bad. She had just woken up, after all, and they had never met, so of course she would be a little overwhelmed. But she could be nice, now, because they seemed to be sweet enough, if a little rowdy. And tactless. But they were children. If she could just show even a fraction of the kindness Nicole had shown her, she would be golden.

With the intention of being more friendly, Margaret showered and got dressed for the day. However, her resolve had more or less crumbled when she came down the stairs and once again heard the cacophony that was her new family in the next room.

"Boo!" Margaret didn't even jump. She looked over her shoulder at Jimmy, who hopped down the stairs behind her. He waved a jumprope at her, grinning. "We're going to play double dutch. Mum moved the couch and everything."

Margaret made a face. All of her good intentions flew out the window. "I think I'll go get some breakfast," she said, walking in the other direction, toward the kitchen.

"Margaret, why are you so boring?" Jimmy called after her.

She paused. "I'm not boring," she said, looking back. "I'm hungry."

"You don't like to play or draw or dance-"

"Actually, I'm a great dancer."

Jimmy looked unconvinced. "You are?"

"I've done ballet since I was seven," said Margaret.

"Anyway," Jimmy went on. "Come play double dutch."

Margaret sighed. "Okay."

With Nicole holding one end of the ropes, Margaret eagerly took the other. She looked surprised and pleased that Margaret had even come down at all, and smiled at her for the entire hour or so that they played.

When they took a break, Margaret sat on the floor and ate from the bowl of chips Nicole had put out on the coffee table. Before long, Mikey came over, staring with wide eyes. "Is it true?" he asked.

"What?" said Margaret.

"Pete says that he believes your a witch. He says he can see his death in your big, icy eyes." He peered into them as if looking for something.

Margaret frowned. "They're not that big," she said.

"Well?"

She threw more chips into her mouth. "I'm not a witch."

Mikey folded his arms. "That's exactly what a witch would say!"

"That's also what someone who isn't a witch would say, if you think about it," said Margaret. Mikey raised his eyebrows, expectant. She sighed. "Yeah," she said. "I'm a witch."

"I knew it!" cried Mikey, then ran off.

Someone behind her chuckled. Margaret looked over her shoulder, and seeing James there, she blushed. He stood, with his hands in his trousers, wearing a smirk. "No work today?" she asked, politely.

"It's Saturday."

"Oh," she said.

(Tonight was the night.)

Afterward, they played musical chairs with the dining chairs and a love seat. Margaret threw the game in the first round, and as she sat down on the couch, Jimmy caught her eye, and mouthed very obviously, "_Boring!_"

Margaret stuck her tongue out at him.

For lunch they ate peanut butter sandwiches, except for Matthew, who was mildly allergic and had a jelly sandwich instead. While they ate, Margaret asked him how he felt today.

"I'm feeling well," he said, with an eye-squishing smile.

After lunch they played hide-and-seek. Margaret hid in the wardrobe in her room and was quickly found by Jack, who was It.

"Now help me find the others!" Jack cried, and Margaret climbed out. As soon as Jack ran off, however, she crept backward, and went back inside.

Margaret hid, curled up in the darkness, until Isabell and George opened the wardrobe doors. Isabell rose her eyebrows. "The game has been over for almost twenty minutes," she said.

"Oh," said Margaret.

When they came downstairs, the children had gathered on the floor on the rug, and Molly was there, and so was a woman that Margaret was introduced to as Sylvia. "It's story time!" Nicole told Margaret.

Margaret sighed. "Oh."

Isabell bounced in the front of the room, beaming. Margaret had yet to see the boys so attentive, though they still weren't quiet.

"Tell the one about the unicorn, Is!" said Mikey.

George stuck out his tongue. "No, the giant!" he said.

"No, Peter Pan!" cried Matthew.

Margaret felt her chest contract at the name. The name of the boy in the drawing. The name of the voice in her dream.

Jimmy nodded his head. "Yes, Peter Pan!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "We always do Peter Pan."

"That's because he's the best!" said Jimmy.

"Peter Pan and Wendy!" cooed Nicholas.

Margaret froze. Perhaps she dreamt of Peter because of Matthew's drawing, but Wendy…

"Who's that?" Margaret heard herself ask.

Nicole smiled from her spot on the couch. "Moira didn't tell you about…well I suppose she wouldn't have." She seemed a bit deflated, suddenly. She said to Isabell: "Tell the story about Peter Pan and Wendy."

And so she did. It was story of magic and adventure, of pirates and mermaids and fairies and indians. Isabell had quite a way with words; Margaret held onto every syllable. By the end of the story she felt odd - faint and confused.

Her family applauded. "You are quite fantastic, my dear," said Molly, and Isabell curtsied.

Mikey tugged on Margaret's sleeve, shaking her from her reverie. "Did you know that our great-great grandmother is the really real Wendy in the story?" Margaret shook her head. "We were meant to go to Neverland, but I don't think Peter can find us."

"You're not going anywhere," said Sylvia. She pat Mikey's back. "Alright, it's time to go. It was very nice to meet you," she added to Margaret.

"But I keep my window open, mum, every night, don't I?" Mikey said as he stood.

"Yes you do, son."

Soon everyone had gotten off the floor except for Margaret. Everyone said their goodbyes and she smiled faintly at them as they went, sitting cross-legged on the rug.

Something felt wrong.

"Margaret, darling," Nicole said tentatively in the doorway. "Would you like anything particular for dinner?"

Margaret shook her head.

James, who she hadn't noticed was still in the room, stood and followed his wife out. Margaret's heart was beating fast.

(Tonight was the night.)

When it was late enough to go to bed, Margaret went to James' office. He let her inside and she sat down.

Margaret opened and closed her mouth a few times before she spoke. James waited patiently. "I've never been able to remember my dreams," she began finally. "But these past three days…ever since I talked to you that evening, I remember them. It. Just one dream, three nights in a row. I feel…helpless in them. But now I'll have control, right? Now I'll have some answers."

Instead of responding, James opened his drawer and pulled out an unmarked bottle, rattling as he moved it. He poured a tan pill in his hand, the size of her pinky nail, and handed it to her over the desk. "Sleep well," he said.

—

For the fourth night in a row, Margaret dreamt she was in the forest of tall, thin trees. But immediately, she felt that something was different. Things were sharper; more connected; less hazy.

She was dreaming and she knew it.

"Margaret." That was Moira, behind her again, reaching out for her as she spun around.

Margaret took a step back, breathing hard. Now that she could concentrate, she saw that this apparition hardly looked like her mother at all. The location and proportions of the facial features were off; its hair was too thin and some strands seemed to be floating, as if in water. Its blue eyes were pale and vacant; lifeless. This was barely a shadow of Moira Henley. This was just a memory.

Behind her, she heard the boy - Peter. The shadow shook its head. Its mouth hung open, gaping. "Margaret," it said again.

Margaret broke out in a run.

The shadow shouted from behind her, but the sound faded as she ran. Peter's voice grew louder. Panting, Margaret willed herself to move faster, and she did.

There were the eyes blinking at her from the darkness, and the animals skittering up the trees. There was the tinkling light zipping about above her - but things were different this time. The sounds of the wildlife were real, almost too real in a way that made Margaret feel exceedingly uncomfortable. But she ran still.

"Wendy!" called Peter. His voice echoed through the forest. "Oh, Wen-dy!"

The name ripped Margaret's throat raw: "Peter!"

This time, his reply was more faint; Margaret fought against the sweat and the pain in her chest to run even faster. "Peter!" She cried. "Wait, Peter! Wait-"

Margaret was interrupted when she stumbled out of the forest and onto a long, grassy trail. The forest ended abruptly, all the wildlife sounds stopping as soon as she stepped out. To her disappointment, Margaret found that she did not hear Peter anymore.

Her heart pounding, Margaret clutched onto her knees and took deep, stinging breaths. She wiggled her toes on the cool, soft grass, and when she could, she righted herself. Across the path was another forest, but it was different. It was sunny there and the trees were thick and red. Margaret furrowed her eyebrows, panting still.

"It's only a dream," she said to herself to make sense of it.

The path, like a green tunnel with the trees of the two forests meeting at the top and a gray light filtering through, went on in both directions. Margaret was unsure of where to go, so she asked herself, "Which way do I turn?" and then she heard herself answer herself, "Left," and so she went left.

Having gone left for awhile, Margaret came out to another road that went both right and left, and she told herself to go left again. She passed forest after forest, and none were the same. They all ended and began abruptly, as if boxed off. It was silent on the trail.

Margaret wasn't sure how long it was, but after some time, the trail ended and she came out into yet another forest. This one, however, was the nicest she had ever seen. The greens were fresh and vibrant and browns were warm and worn. Wide, large leaves of plants Margaret had never seen sprouted out all about. A pleasant light twinkled down through the bed of trees above, sparkling on drops of dew left on the leaves. To her left, Margaret heard a gentle creek, and to her right…

There was a young man with russet colored skin and long, silky black hair. He regarded Margaret in her bare feet and Snoopy pjs; she regarded him and his bare chest and cloth pants and face paint.

"Uh," said Margaret.

With no warning, the young man stepped forward, walking through the forest with an ease Margaret simply did not posses: she stumbled a bit as she walked backward, holding her hands up. "Hold on a minute," she said.

_This man disappears, _Margaret thought. _I have a baseball bat. He goes away. _Margaret had been reading up on lucid dreaming on the internet in the days before this, and it had been her understanding that she would be able to control her dream. This young man apparently had a different idea. "No, wait!" she cried. "No!"

The young man grabbed Margaret by the waist and threw her over his shoulder. "Put me down!" she shouted, slapping at his bare back. "Put me down, right now!"

The young man turned around, unaffected by her defenses, and took her away.

—

"How much longer do I gotta hold ya?" asked Bitts, standing on a rickety chair with Dez sitting on his shoulders.

Dez stretched up toward a beam on the ceiling, trying to reach the frisbee Kelp had thrown up there. "Almost…got it…" he managed.

Just then, Pin pulled himself in through the hole in the floor. "Peter's back," he said, breathless.

Bitts shoved Dez off his shoulders and he dropped to the floor with a thump.

"Peter!" shouted all the boys.

"Oof," murmured Dez.

Pin, Roller, Matty, Great, Bitts, and then Dez, scrambled out of the main room through the windows and the hole in the floor. Shouting, they slid down ropes and climbed down the tree and jumped from branch to branch.

Finally, they yelled into the den, which was the lowest room on the tree, climbing in through the windows and the hole on the ceiling.

"Peter!" they cried as they gathered before him, hoping he would crow, but he didn't.

Peter sat on his chair, tall and carved into the tree like a throne, and he pouted, with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees. Maimie mimicked him, sitting on the armrest beside him.

The boys fell silent.

"Whattsuhmatter, Peter?" asked Great.

Peter threw up his hands. "Oh, I don't know!" he said. "I've been lookin' real hard for somethin' and I can't find it anywhere."

"What is it?" said Matty.

Peter scratched his head. "I don't know!" he said again.

"Well, how do you know you haven't found the thing you're lookin' for if you don't know what it is you haven't found?" asked Dez.

Peter frowned. "Anyways," he said. "Let's do something fun." He floated off his chair, sitting cross-legged in the air. "Let's go fight Captain Wolff!"

"You killed him already, Peter," said Roller, and Peter sank back into his seat, groaning. He groaned until he had no more breath to groan with and slid down his throne, sitting on it upside down, with his feet in the air and his hair flopping down toward the floor.

The boys scrambled closer.

"Don't worry, Peter," they said. "They're gonna get a new captain soon, and then we can kill him!" They had never seen Peter act in this way and they were quite worried.

"Look!" said Great, pointing at the southern window. The boys made way so Peter could watch as a tall white bird with black wings alighted on the windowsill holding a bundle from its beak. "It's the Stork!"

Peter groaned again, shutting his eyes and rolling onto the floor. The boys skittered out of his way. "Another baby!" whined Peter, his speech muffled by the hardwood.

Roller went to the window and grabbed the new kid, nodding to the Stork in thanks. The boys crowded around there, then, leaving Peter on the floor. "I get to name this one!" Pin said, jumping in the back. "I get to name 'em 'cause Matty came with a name and I didn't get to name 'em then."

"Alright, alright," said Roller. "Move outta the way so Pin can name the baby, already."

Roller tilted the bundle over so that Pin could peer into the baby's face. "Wow," he said. "He's sure got some long eye-hairs."

"Eye-hairs?" said Bitts.

"Yeah, those long black hairs on his eyes."

Matty giggled. "I believe those are called eyelashes," he said.

"Eyelashes," the boys chorused.

"Well, there ya go," said Pin. "The baby's name is Lashes."

Roller held the new Lost Boy high above his head. "Lashes!" he shouted.

"Lashes!" shouted all of the boys, even Peter, because he didn't like to be left out.

At that moment, Maimie zoomed in through the western window, tinkling in her little fairy language. The boys hadn't even noticed she'd gone.

"The Natives have a prisoner?" Peter responded eagerly, floating up a few inches into the air.

Bits whipped his head around. "Where's Great?" and all the other boys looked too.

"I'm right here!" said Great. He was inching away with Lashes cooing in his arms. "Nope. It wasn't me this time. Listen, fellas, Imma watch after the baby this time, you guys go ahead."

"Well, then, who've they got, Mai?" Pin asked.

Maimie shook in excitement, throwing her tiny fists into the air.

"A Wendy-what?" said Dez, who hadn't quite gotten the hand of fairy language yet.

Peter grinned. "A Wendy-bird."

—

Being held prisoner wasn't so bad.

Once Margaret had given up and stopped screaming - it was only a dream, after all - she was treated very kindly by her captors. Yes, they did tie up her feet and hands, but they sat her upon an intricate throne by the cliff at the edge of the camp, and someone came and fed her a red berry she didn't recognize. She resisted at first, but finally allowed it, and it was the best thing she had ever tasted, even if she'd imagined it.

While children painted Margaret's face and arms with their fingers, a beautiful young woman came forward and bowed her head. Her thick, dark hair went down to her waist, and she wore beautiful jewelry and a dress made of tan, fringed material. "Hello, Wendy-bird," she said in a silky voice, as the children left. It was the first time she was spoken to in a language she recognized.

Margaret nodded. "Hi," she said. "Do you mind telling me what's going on?"

The girl smiled. "My name is Tiponi. I am the princess of the Picaninny tribe."

Margaret's mouth fell open. "The _what_?"

"The Picaninny tribe." Tiponi looked confused.

"You guys _call _yourself that?"

Princess Tiponi took a step back, frowning. "We do not wish to offend the Wendy-bird," she said.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," said Margaret, shaking her head. "I'm not offended - you're all very kind." She glanced at her wrists bound in her lap. "Considering."

Princess Tiponi bowed again. "I wished only to meet the Wendy-bird," she said. "And to ensure she is comfortable."

_I'm free from these ropes. I'm flying away. _

Nothing.

_"_Well," said Margaret. "I am. I guess."

"It will not be long, now," said Princess Tiponi.

"Long until what?"

Tiponi grinned. "The Lost Boys are coming for you, Wendy-bird. All good fun."

"Who?"

Someone in the tribe began to cry, patting their mouths as they yelled, and they were joined by another and another until the entire camp was making the high-pitched noise. Margaret looked for the princess but she had disappeared.

A figure shot into the sky, stark against the vivid, cloudless blue, and above all of the Natives' cries he crowed, the sound resonating through the camp. Margaret watched the person - the boy - perched in the sky with his hands on his hips, and his feet spread, as an army - of boys - ran shouting into her view.

Margaret could only stare in horror as the boys attacked the tribe with slingshots filled with paint balloons, and large bags made of fabric filled with feathers. The tribe fought back with bows and arrows with sticky paint ends instead of sharp points and by wrestling the children to the ground. They knocked over teepees and fell over campfires (though the fires weren't lit.) They clashed and clanged around bowls and pushed over drums, and there were men and women and children not fighting, standing on the side lines, cheering…

Margaret stood up, awed at the blatant destruction and violence, and the Natives cheering and the boys laughing. She hopped forward once, still tied up, and looked once more for Tiponi.

"Hi!" said someone to her right, and then she blinked at a paint-covered boy who smiled back, right in her face, but who floated horizontally in the air. He wrinkled his nose. "You're not Wendy," he said.

"Peter," Margaret whispered.

Peter shrugged. He effortlessly scooped Margaret up and flew her high into the air. He crowed again, as he had done at the beginning of battle. The Lost Boys shouted below him.

Margaret stared up at the boy of her dreams as he giggled, spinning up higher and moving out over the ocean. "That was fun!" he said, and looked down at her.

When he did, his smile fell, and he cocked his head to the side as he stared. He was elf-like, with an angular chin and a little nose that turned up at the end. His ears were even large and pointed at the top.

His tan skin was freckled and rosy around the cheeks. He had fair hair that flopped about his head in a messy way and keen eyes, the same green in the forest that had caught Margaret's attention when she'd first come.

Margaret, however, Margaret had eyes that were the exact same shade of blue as the sky in Neverland, and Peter regarded them with his, Margaret's light brown hair spilling over his arm, and her painted mouth hanging open only just, and wrists tied up and rested under her chin, and then he dropped her.

Down, down, down.


End file.
